


happy like my birthday (my birthday, oui tout à fait)

by rathalos



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gift Giving, trans girl chrome, watch me put this tag on every chrome fic i write.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27480622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathalos/pseuds/rathalos
Summary: “Hmph. I know that tone of voice. Well, I hope you aren’t too exhausted to have a little celebration of our own,” M.M. says haughtily. “It was sweet and all, but you know I don’t do crowds.”“I know,” Chrome says, giving M.M.’s hand a little squeeze.
Relationships: Chrome Dokuro/M.M.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	happy like my birthday (my birthday, oui tout à fait)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [basedkhr (basedfran)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/basedfran/gifts).



> title from [Salted Caramel Ice Cream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBRDaPWaxZg) by Metronomy

Chrome still isn’t used to the birthday parties Tsuna insists on throwing for her.

This is the third year in a row that he’s managed to wrangle everyone together—including all her friends from Kokuyo, which is an exceedingly difficult feat.

The people attending are packed like sardines inside Tsuna’s house, with a few notable exceptions. Chrome had lost sight of Mukuro about an hour ago, and Fran has been missing since he got here, but she’s not too worried. With Mukuro, she knows he can take care of himself (in a manner of speaking); with Fran, she’s more worried about any unfortunate souls he crosses paths with.

Last but not least on the Conspicuously Missing Persons List is Hibari, but he’s sleeping on the roof—Chrome had seen him while she was outside earlier.

On the other hand, M.M. has been more or less by her side the entire day. Occasionally she disappears for ten or fifteen minutes at a time (off to yell at Ken most likely; he’s been a consistent source of trouble ever since he arrived), but aside from that she’s always within view.

And surprisingly, Chrome finds that the press of people doesn’t bother her as much as it used to. Neither does the noise. It’s all familiar faces. When she hears shouting from the direction of the kitchen, she knows it’s Hayato having a spat with Bianchi over what they’re cooking for dinner. When she sees Ryohei running down the hallway, Lambo hot on his heels, it doesn’t startle her—she’s seen this song and dance a million times before.

She wouldn’t _choose_ to spend all her time in the heart of this chaos, but in moderation, it’s nice.

The sun’s well past set once everyone finally settles down enough to sing Happy Birthday to her. They cram themselves into the living room—even Hibari, who looks like he’s one wrong move from attacking the nearest person, who happens to be a _very_ distressed Tsuna—and gather around Chrome, who’s sitting in front of the birthday cake.

It’s red velvet. Her favorite.

She’s been smiling all day, but the grin grows a little wider now.

The resultant chorus of voices—discordant, off-key, in a few cases actually _decent_ —can hardly be called singing. It’s a good thing that Chrome is generous with her judgement.

She closes her eyes.

Eighteen candles lit.

Eighteen candles out.

The huge (monstrous, really) cake is cut, served, and eaten over small talk and happy congratulations. Admittedly, Chrome doesn’t entirely _get_ what’s so special about birthdays, but if everyone else is happy, she’s happy.

Over the course of about half an hour, people start to trickle out of the Sawada residence. Chrome and M.M. are the last stragglers. They leave together, M.M. leading her down the street by the hand. It’s dark and cold and the stars are bright overhead—as much as they can be, anyways, with the light pollution from the city dimming their glow.

“So, birthday girl, how was it?” M.M. asks, swinging their arms together. “What was that present they gave you?”

Chrome considers. “Good. I had a lot of fun. And… it was s-some money. Boss and the others chipped in to, uh, to give it to me.”

That’s tucked away in her wallet. She’s glad she’d remembered not to ask for physical presents this year—she finds she’s always overwhelmed by the sheer volume of stuff she receives if she even _hints_ toward wanting something specific.

“Ooh, money. Sawada’s not so bad. You tired, Chrome?” she prods.

“A bit…”

“Hmph. I know that tone of voice. Well, I hope you aren’t too exhausted to have a little celebration of our own,” M.M. says haughtily. “It was sweet and all, but you know I don’t do crowds.”

“I know,” Chrome says, giving M.M.’s hand a little squeeze.

She should have dressed warmer. The cold is nipping at her cheeks and nose, and from what she can see, the chill has reddened M.M.’s face too. Chrome gives her fingers an experimental wiggle and finds they’re becoming stiff, even on the hand connected with M.M.’s.

What crummy weather.

She wouldn’t give this up for the world.

*

“Aaahhh, home sweet home,” M.M. cries, the moment she opens the door to her apartment. “Can you lock the door? I need to turn on the heat.”

M.M. doesn’t even stop to take off her shoes—something Chrome internally cringes at—before she flounces down the hall, towards the living room where the thermostat dial is.

While she fumbles the latch of the lock, the familiar _beep! beep! beep!_ of M.M. messing with the buttons reaches her ears.

Chrome closes her eyes. Breathes out, long and slow and content. She loves this routine, loves the way she and M.M. work with and around each other. It’s such a stark difference to when they’d first started dating, both of them stumbling around the other, unsure of where to stand for fear of shaky ground.

M.M. eventually comes back to kick her boots off, and Chrome follows suit, trailing after her to the living room. She makes to flick the lights on, but her girlfriend stops her with a tap to the wrist.

“Leave them off for a couple minutes. Candles are prettier in the dark,” M.M says off-handedly, disappearing into the kitchen with a half-hearted gesture for Chrome to make herself at home.

She does, sprawling herself across the red couch (the purple one is M.M’s favorite, and Chrome finds it unbearable to sit on—it’s a funny kind of balance they’ve struck) and closing her eyes. She sighs.

Today had been fun for sure, but Chrome is _exhausted._ And more so than that, she’s infinitely glad that Fran had chosen to sleep over with Fuuta today—she would be dead on her feet if she had to wrangle Fran into bed too.

M.M. returns within a matter of seconds. The thin beam of moonlight slanting through the window illuminates her enough for Chrome to make out the small cupcake she’s holding, with a candle stuck in it at an odd, not-quite-upright angle.

“For me?” Chrome asks, letting her voice drop a little. She sits up, swinging her legs to the side and resting her feet on the floor.

“For you,” M.M. agrees, putting the cupcake down on the coffee table and narrowly avoiding knocking a stack of books onto the floor. “I baked this myself, so you’d better appreciate it.”

There’s a rustling sound—a click—and then a small flame flickers to life in front of M.M.’s face. She holds the lighter to the candle on the cupcake and nods in satisfaction when the wick catches easily.

“You didn’t have to, Em,” Chrome says, already knowing what the response will be.

“I wanted to,” M.M. replies. “Now are you going to blow it out or what?”

“Mmm. Can I think of a wish first?” Chrome asks.

“You’d better hurry. The wax will melt.”

Actually, Chrome knows exactly what she’s going to wish for. She just wants to steal a few seconds to stare at M.M. Her eyes are lit burnished orange from the light of the solitary birthday candle, and she’s watching Chrome with a lazy, half-lidded look and a half-smile on her face. Expectant.

Chrome blows the candle out.

“Happy birthday,” M.M. says cheerily. “Now I hope I’m not ruining the magic by saying this, but let me get the lights.”

While M.M. busies herself with that (accidentally kicking the corner of the sofa on the way and subsequently pausing to cuss out the piece of furniture), Chrome picks the candle from the cupcake and takes a bite. It’s good; M.M. must have made this from a cake mix. Chrome and M.M. share the misfortune of not being able to cook worth a damn. The closest Chrome ever gets to preparing a meal is microwaving dinner or making instant ramen, and M.M. isn’t all that much better.

“And now,” M.M. says airily, flicking the lights on, coming back, and retrieving a small box from under the coffee table, “It’s present time!”

For the second time tonight, Chrome tries to say, “You didn’t have to,” but M.M. shuts her down quickly.

“Again—I wanted to,” she says, shoving the box toward Chrome.

A sheer golden ribbon wraps the creamy-white box shut, ending in a prettily-done bow just in the center of it. Chrome feels bad to ruin the sight, but she delicately tugs on one end of the knot, unraveling the length of shimmery fabric.

“Don’t just admire it,” M.M. says, resting her head on her arms and looking up at Chrome with an impatient expression. “Open it!”

She does, gently, not wanting to damage any piece of the present M.M. got for her.

“Oh… It’s a skirt,” Chrome realizes, lifting the piece of clothing out of the box. “I love it. It’s beautiful.”

“I thought ruffles would suit you,” M.M. sniffs, playing with one of the many pens scattered across the table. “It was hard to make, but, you know. Perfection takes time.”

“You _made_ this?” Chrome breathes, hugging the skirt close to her chest. She likes the texture against her hands, smooth and slightly glossy. It’s that deep purple color M.M. knows she adores, and Chrome can already predict that M.M. is going to play dress-up with this for the next few weeks. She can’t complain; it’s nice to have someone care enough to coordinate her outfits for her. “That’s amazing.”

“It is,” M.M. says. Her next words come out slower, more careful, and she stops clicking the end of the pen. The silence lends an air of anticipation to her speech. “I’m really glad you liked it. I was…”

Chrome hums inquisitively.

“Nevermind,” M.M. says, cheeks dusted pink. She sits up properly, putting the pen aside and crossing her arms. “I just want you to know I really love you. And that I’m glad I spent so much effort on making a present because you deserve it. You’re, uh.” She clears her throat. “You’re the best girlfriend I could ask for.”

Chrome’s heart melts. Fully and completely, just like that. She’s currently at a loss for words, so instead of saying anything she leans across the table and plants a kiss on M.M.’s cheek. She hopes her smile says the rest.

M.M., on the other hand, appears to cope with her mushy feelings by amping her inner conversationalist up to a hundred. Her face is red as a tomato, but she gives a valiant attempt to at least act normal.

“Okay, well, I. That’s all I had planned,” M.M. says, getting up. She stands still for a moment, looking conflicted, before she extends her hand. Chrome takes it, and M.M. pulls her to her feet. “The rest of the cupcakes are in the kitchen if you want them.”

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Chrome asks, grinning when M.M. sighs, slumping against Chrome’s chest.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, words muffled through the fabric of Chrome’s shirt. “God, I’m embarrassing. Can’t even give you a gift without feeling like I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not,” Chrome reassures. “Em.”

M.M. tilts her head upwards. She’s pouting. Chrome melts a little further.

“What?” M.M. asks.

Chrome giggles instead of answering, cupping M.M.’s face in her hands. “Can I kiss you?”

Her girlfriend raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Do you even need to ask? Of course you can.”

Chrome leans down and kisses M.M., smiling against her lips.

*

The movie ends up as background noise to idle conversation—neither of them are paying very much attention to the action on-screen. Chrome’s got her head pillowed in M.M.’s lap, legs bent over the armrest of the couch. M.M. is playing with her hair, gently pulling it back from Chrome’s forehead in a repeated, soothing motion.

“Today was fun,” Chrome murmurs, stretching. “But I’m—” As if to prove her point, a massive yawn breaks her words apart. She can’t hear the movie past the rushing in her ears. “—tired.”

“Yeah. I can tell,” M.M. laughs, patting Chrome on the shoulder. She reaches for the remote and hits the volume button, drastically reducing the television’s volume. “Go to sleep.”

“Noooo,” Chrome protests, voice rough, sleepiness hampering her brain-to-mouth filter. “I wanna stay here.”

“Then stay,” M.M. says, like it’s obvious.

“Mmnh. Sing me a lullaby?” Chrome asks, giving M.M. her best puppy-dog eyes.

“Ugh, stop that. You know I can’t say no to you when you give me that look,” M.M. says, shifting so she’s more settled in. “Fine.”

M.M.’s not the best singer out there, so maybe it’s just Chrome’s personal bias, but there’s an enchanting quality to her words, a floatiness that makes Chrome feel like she’s not quite real. The words of the song go over her head—the lullabies M.M. knows are in French, a language Chrome had never managed to get a solid grasp on—but she enjoys it nonetheless.

It doesn’t take long for Chrome to drift away, M.M.’s singing and the soft droning of the TV in the background lulling her to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [takeshiyamamoto](https://takeshiyamamoto.tumblr.com) please come interact with me if you like chrome/m.m.!!!
> 
> and as always, i would die for each and every person who comments.


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